


let's go to the beach (beach)

by goldkirk



Series: Shutterbug [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Day At The Beach, Family Fluff, Gen, Service Dogs, come on how could I NOT if you read the title you should already know i'm having fun with this, got BANNED from AT LEAST ONE OF THEM in this ridiculous family, gratuitous vine references, racial profiling at airports, this whole family is exhausted pls let them rest, vague allusions to disney world and land and the fact that SOMEONE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/pseuds/goldkirk
Summary: The Batfam has had aNight™at the end of a Long String of Nights™, and Bruce makes an executive decision: it's time for a beach vacation, before someone passes out on the edge of a roof or gets shot because they're too worn out to dodge.Shenanigans inevitably ensue.
Relationships: The Batfam & Rest
Series: Shutterbug [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575793
Comments: 72
Kudos: 904





	1. is there anything better than SLEEP

**Author's Note:**

> Another tumblr request!!! It's been sitting in my inbox for a while and I finally had some time to tackle it. Second part will be up when I finish writing it tonight :)

They’re scattered around the cave, half-out of costume, mostly just slumped where they landed after the longest, roughest, most slime-filled night of patrol they’ve had in…probably years, at this point. It’s been a long night at the end of a month of long weeks, and the whole family is, to put it kindly,  _ wrecked _ .

“If Snotman McStinkface never escapes from space jail ever again, ever,” Stephanie says, from where she’s draped herself over the balance beam, “it will be eighty years too soon. This is literally never coming out of my boots.”

“Agreed,” Tim croaks, clumsy fingers still trying to unlace his upper armor. He almost tips off of the counter he’s perched on, narrowly saved from a fall by Jason’s steadying hand. The ring of bruising around his neck is starting to show up starkly against his ashy skin in the fluorescent lighting of the cave.

Jason tiredly whacks Tim’s shoulder with the limp, soaked glove he’s just stripped off. “No  _ talking _ . S’pos’d to rest.”

Tim sticks out his tongue, but doesn’t speak again, just looks down at the new splotch of bright green slime on his shoulder and sighs very, very quietly through his nose.

Damian would normally chime in right about now, except he’s currently sacked out on the middle of the floor. Alfred almost stepped on him a few minutes ago. He definitely needs to get into some fresh clothing and into a real bed, but for once he finally looks peaceful and actually thirteen years old, and no one really has the energy to haul him off and get him changed right now.

Not even Dick, who’s usually able to go about twenty extra miles, uphill in the snow both ways, when one of his siblings needs help. But to his credit, he did at least shove a pillow under Damian’s head and throw a couple towels over his dripping, sticky little body.

“Hey,” Dick slurs, ever so slightly, upside-down in the Batcomputer chair. “Bruce. Batdad. B.”

“What, sunshine,” Bruce answers, barely audible from the torn-up old futon he’s crashed on this time. He doesn’t wince once as Alfred painstakingly superglues a cut on the underside of his arm.

Dick throws out one hand in the vague direction of the Damian-shaped lump in the middle of the cave floor.

“Tag,” Dick says, dryly. “You’re it.”

“Hn,” says Bruce.

_ “Shhh,”  _ Cass finally speaks up, snapping her fingers in a  _ zip-it _ motion at all of them. The way she’s burrowed into a Lovesac—because she, unlike the rest of them, actually stripped out of her suit and doused her hair in solvent. she just…didn’t put on anything over her under-layer afterwards—it looks like she’s trying to become one with the overpriced cushion. “Loud,” she groans. Tim tosses her the one of the migraine kit lunchboxes without her needing to say another word, and she pops out to catch it and sign a quick  _ thank you, little brother, _ before vanishing fully underneath a Wonder Woman blanket she’s found.

Bruce stares up at the cave ceiling and takes one breath, two breaths, and then  _ sighs _ .

“Kids,” he says, raspy voice ringing out bold and clear in the unusual quiet. “I’m calling it. We need a break. I think it’s high time for a vacation.” He closes his eyes. “Alfred,” he murmurs. “Where should we go, do you think? Anywhere in particular you’ve been wanting to see?”

“I hear that Cocoa Beach is quite nice this time of year,” Alfred says, as he wraps a bandage tightly around Bruce’s arm. “Safe, pleasant beaches, authentic ‘retro’ coast towns, and a rather good view of rocket launches from Kennedy Space Center across the water. Plenty to keep everyone happy, I believe.”

“And if all else fails,” Dick says, sounding suddenly much more energetic than he has a minute ago, “there’s always Disney World to fall back on!”

“And Universal Studios,” Steph adds. “Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and all that.”

“Do you remember what happened  _ last _ time we tried to go to Disney?” Jason snorts. “Damian is  _ still _ banned.”

“Yeah but that was Disney Land, not Disney World,” Dick says. “A guy can dream.”

“We are going to the  _ beach,” _ Bruce says firmly. “I am going to nap. You’re going to play in the ocean and get yourselves and the dogs absolutely caked in sand, and we’re going to watch at least one rocket launch, weather permitting.”

“I want to nap too,” Tim wheezes out, straining to make himself loud enough to be heard.

“Then you can nap too,” Bruce says, swinging himself up and off the futon and onto his feet. “Everyone can nap, hell if I care. Do what you want. Just don’t disturb  _ mine _ for the first couple of days. And Tim, sweetheart, stop talking. If your throat gets worse, we’ll have to drive in to see Leslie for an emergency visit, and I don’t think any of us want to go out again after tonight, especially you.”

_ Yes, Dad,  _ Tim signs, looking apologetic.  _ Sorry. _

“It’s okay, buddy,” Bruce says. “Just rest.” He looks around at his children, silently checking Cass off from his mental list since there’s no way anyone’s getting her moved from that spot now until sometime tomorrow afternoon at least. He’ll make sure to bring her some light breakfast if she’s up to it later.

“Okay,” says Bruce. “Bruce Wayne Express Wash and Ride service has arrived. Who’s up first? We’re on a limited time schedule here, I’ve got about an hour and a half left in me before it’s time for bed.”

“Me,” Jason says, jabbing his hand in the air. “Please. You’re an angel of the lord. I pledge my devoted allegiance to you forever. A bath, a bath, my kingdom for a bath.”

Bruce snorts. “All right, Shakespeare, let’s do this.” As he slings one arm around Jason’s ribs, he looks over at Dick. “You’re next, sunshine. I’m gonna need you to wake Dames up so he doesn’t stab anyone out of sheer confusion. You’re the one he feels safest with.”

Dick salutes lazily, and lets his eyes drop shut. “Aye-aye, captain.”

“What about me?” Steph asks.

“You, Miss Brown, are due for a meeting with  _ me, _ if I am not mistaken,” Alfred says, holding out a steady hand to help her off of the beam. She takes it and slips to her feet with a groan. “I did not miss the ankle you favored when arriving back at the cave, despite your admirable attempt to act natural. I will remind you again that injuries are not a sign of weakness here, my dear, and I insist that you let me take care of that leg properly so that you may rest in comfort tonight rather than pain.”

Steph sniffs, just once, though her eyes remain dry. She nods, and allows herself to lean on Alfred slightly as she limps slowly over to one of the gurneys in the medical bay.

“Okay,” Steph says quietly. “Thanks, Alfie.”

“Tim,” Bruce says, just before he and Jason cross the threshold to the shower room. “I want you lying down on a gurney. Try to sleep if you can, and keep your windpipe in a recovery position. Alfred can help you with pillows for bracing if you’re too tired to grab a few down. I’ll help you wash up in a bit.”

Tim shoots him a thumbs-up, then vanishes around the corner after Alfred and Stephanie.

Yeah, Bruce thinks with a nod. Definitely time for a vacation. Before this city eats them all alive with the summer haze. When even the villains are turning into goo monsters, that’s when it’s time to get out of dodge and let some of the other major leaguers take over who are less human and more slime-resistant. And laser resistant. And—everything proof.

Tomorrow he’ll call Clark and Diana and set up some sort of shift system with them so the city remains protected. But for tonight, Bruce’s only focus is his kids, and getting them to bed—more or less  _ in _ beds. They’re worn to the bone, and it’s time for Bruce to take care of them as both Batman and their dad.

A relaxing beach vacation is going to be just the ticket for his exhausted bats and birds. They’ve all more than earned it.


	2. the kids can have a little Bruce-pranking. as a treat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airports can be stressful, but they're not so bad with family and TSA agents that don't _completely_ suck. It's beach time, baby!!!!! And Bruce finally gets a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!!!

They’re at the airport two days later, bright and early. Alfred minimized complaints about their 4 a.m. wake-up by promising they’d drive through Krispy Kreme and Dunkin on the way to the airport, ensuring that everyone, donut purists _and_ caffeine addicts (of which there are many, in this line of family business), would be happy and full by the time they hit airport security. 

(On that note, Dick and Bruce have checked Damian over thoroughly no fewer than _four_ times already that morning for hidden weapons. There’s a carefully-hidden roll of three throwing knives tucked in one of the bushes outside the airport, waiting for pickup by Diana when she has a minute.)

As usually happens when they travel, Dick and Jason go through first and _both_ get pulled aside by TSA Agents for “random searches,” despite Bruce’s protests, and despite their TSA Pre-check status. 

Dick rolls his eyes and follows an agent aside, one hand out towards Bruce in a stop, it’s fine motion. “It’s fine, Bruce. I’ll be cleared in a minute, I’m sure.” And he is, also as usual. But Bruce makes sure the agents know he’s watching carefully the whole time, with sharp eyes and tight lips, just as Alfred does the same for a _much_ more disgruntled Jason, who has the added complication of Peanut coming through security with him as an official service dog. 

Jason doesn’t always take Peanut out in public when he goes places—most service dog handlers don’t. Sometimes the hassle outweighs the benefits, or the dog needs a break, or the handler is having a better day than usual. But traveling, even for pleasure, always increases stress, and Jason’s nightmares haven’t died down in the slightest. 

With Peanut’s alerts and wake-up tasking, Jason’s able to wake up sooner from nightmares and flashback dreams and ultimately fall back to sleep more quickly at night. And if all else fails, and Jason has a bad panic attack in an unfamiliar room while they’re in Florida, Peanut’s going to be able to go between adjoining rooms for help if Jason tells him to find Bruce. 

Finally Jason and Alfred make it through, followed by Steph, who hobbles through on crutches and gets a pat-down as well. She takes it with grace and a few terrible jokes that have the TSA agent handling her actually cracking a smile, and then Dick helps her over to a bench and kneels down to help her pull on her shoe. It’s a combat boot, not the best beach wear, but it was the only thing that matched the height of her walking boot that she has to wear thanks to the ankle sprain. 

“I can’t wait to take this off once we get to the ocean,” she sighed earlier that morning after hauling her leg into the car. Cass just smiled and pulled Steph’s boot up onto her lap, patting it a few times in sympathy. 

“As long as you’re careful,” Bruce said, in a slightly warning tone. 

Steph snorted. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to make this any worse. And besides,” she added, “it’s not like there’s any lack of strong young men and women around to carry me to and from the water like a queen.”

After Steph comes Cass, silent and polite as she makes it through the metal detector with no hassle. Bruce gives her a quick peck on the cheek as she pads softly past him to retrieve her shoes, and she giggles and ducks away before signing back _love you._

They all hold their collective breath when it’s Damian’s turn through the scanner, but thankfully the combined persuasive efforts of Bruce, Alfred, and Dick combined have actually been enough to get him to leave the weapons at home, or at least hide them in his checked baggage where they won’t set off alarms and lead to a lot of uncomfortable questions for the Waynes. He even politely thanks the agents for their time after he’s declared good to go, and Bruce is not ashamed that part of him wants to shed a tear over how far his youngest has come in just over a year. 

Finally it’s Tim’s turn. He honestly should have gone sooner in the lineup, but despite his parents’ globetrotting ways, he’s never actually been on a plane before, and he’s more nervous than he cares to admit in front of Damian. So he’s just...drifted at the back of the pack, more or less. But now it’s time to pay the piper. 

Nova is with Tim more often than not when he’s out in civilian mode these days, after the events of the past couple years. Bruce had known Jason needed a service dog to come with him to college, even if he didn’t need one much besides at home while still in high school. But Tim had been more of a toss-up, where maybe he’d get to a point where he needed one outside the house and maybe he wouldn’t. Eventually, Dinah, Bruce, and Tim has all agreed that as long as his symptoms were affecting his life to this extent, it would be best for him to start using Nova to her full capacity as a service dog, not just an ESA. Bruce is glad, now, that he’d gotten Nova fully trained rather than just basic obedience and a little bit of tasking. Tim’s doing better than he was a few years ago, in a lot of ways, but he’s been through a lot more, and its taken a definite toll. 

This is Tim’s first time at the airport, but Nova’s third. Airport desensitization was one of the things the trainers had made sure she learned while growing up. Her calm patience helps rein in some of Tim’s anxiety.

 _At least one of us seems to know what they’re doing,_ he thinks, as he toes off his sneakers and drops them into a bin right behind his backpack. 

“Okay, sir,” says a very young-looking TSA agent. He might not even be as old as Dick. “Nothing in your pockets, no belt, nothing like that?”

Tim shakes his head. 

“Okay. I’m going to ask you to step through when the other agent says, but you have to leave your dog here and then call them through. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim says. He feels kind of sweaty, and his chest is tight, but he keeps his breathing even and his chin up, refusing to let the anxiety win. 

He ducks out of the over-the shoulder leash and sets it down gently on the ground next to Nova. Then he squats momentarily to look her in the eyes, using one hand to balance while the other strokes Nova gently behind the ear. 

“Nova,” he says, clear and strong. “Sit.” She sits, and he offers a smile. “Good girl!” he praises, and her tail gives one little wag. Even excited and in a busy airport environment, she’s still calm and in control. _So,_ Tim figures, _I can be too._

He stands. “Nova,” he says, twisting to look at her while he faces the metal detector. “Stay!” 

“Come on through,” The TSA agent says, sounding rushed. But still less frazzled than the ones wrangling the regular lines, for sure. Tim’s glad their PreCheck and service dogs get the family into the much shorter, less hurried security line off to the side. The regular ones look...a little too stressful to handle, right now. 

Tim walks through the detector holding his breath, but nothing beeps. Bruce and Jason are waiting for him just on the other side, and as soon as Tim is within range, Bruce’s hand settles on his shoulder, firm and safe. 

“Good job, Tim,” he says. “You made it.”

Tim throws him a quick grin before turning back to face Nova. 

“Is now okay?” he checks with the TSA agent on this side. At her nod, he pats his thighs twice and offers Nova a big smile. 

“Nova! Come!” 

She trots through the scanner and then halts when Tim says, waiting patiently through the quick pat-down of her collar and vest. Then she’s cleared as well, and Tim’s slipping the leash back over his head and shoulder while Jason gives him a noogie and quick hug. 

“The first time is always the hardest,” he says cheerfully. “Now you know what to expect.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. Bruce hands him his shoes and backpack, and then guides all three of them over to a nearby bench, not far from where the others have congregated in a huddle of carry-ons and heated debate about the pricing of items in Hudson Books airport stores. 

“Boy, they’re sure intense about it,” Tim says, frowning a little as Damian and Steph start really getting into it. 

Bruce sighs. 

“To be fair,” he says, “they’re _both_ right. Everything in an airport IS overpriced, even though businesses don’t have to do that. But it’s a captive market model, an isolated system, so at the same time, it’s technically good business practice. If you don’t care much about ethics or the good of the poor and middle class, that is.”

“Have you ever considered disrupting the airport marketplace?” Tim asks with a grin. 

“Every time I fly.” Bruce cracks a smile. “Come on,” he says, hauling Jason and Tim up. “If we get to the gate soon, we might still be able to find enough seats in one big row of the waiting area.”

* * *

Several hours, two bathroom breaks, one wrong turn, and a lot of zig-zag driving to avoid a particularly-rabid paparazzi van that literally followed them down the highway later, the Wayne family finally arrives at their rented Airbnb beach house and piles out of the car. 

They work together as efficiently as they always do on patrol to get all the luggage and supplies inside and unpacked, and then finally with Alfred’s final nod the kids go sprinting out the backdoor towards the water. Bruce paid extra for a place with a private stretch of beach, and he doesn’t regret it one bit. No one outside the family needs to hear his kids cussing each other out in multiple languages as they leapfrog and gently fist-fight their way to the water in one big rush. 

Bruce carries Steph out himself once she’s finally finished changing into her bikini—purple and blue mermaid ruffles, brand new, freshly bought for the trip. Swimsuits are one of her favorite things to get, now, which she does often and with great excitement. She hadn’t _had_ a new one in years, before she moved into the manor, and one of the first things on Dick’s list for _How To Help Stephanie Settle In_ was “get her a proper swimsuit so she can hang out with all of us in the pool”. 

The kids are still banned from that particular Walmart for life, but at least they got a swimsuit and another round of fish-rescuing out of the deal. Jason and Tim’s faces when Bruce rolled up in the Walmart parking lot to collect his children, two carts full of sad-looking fish, and a few purloined employees from the care of the local police had been _priceless_. Bruce has the dashcam footage secretly saved on one of his many backup hard drives in the cave.

Ah, children. Can’t live with them, definitely can’t live without them. And really, when it comes to their passion for justice—and skill at corporate espionage—Bruce...really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. 

* * *

“Ground rules!” Bruce bellows, as soon as his flip-flops hit the sand. “Form up!” 

The kids scramble from their positions scattered around the beach and shallows to line up in front of him as if they’re reporting in before patrol. 

Alfred stands composed in the beating sun, hands behind his back and an enormous sun hat perched on what few strands of hair he still has. 

Bruce starts ticking off fingers, one by one. “No fancy moves, we can’t take any risks in case hidden paparazzi are watching. No excessive dunking. You are allowed a minimum of three pranks on me per day, no more. Alfred is off limits. You may not play hot potato with Damian, we are not having a repeat of Memorial Day at the lake. If you see anything dangerous, you call the code and everyone gets out of the water until we’re sure it’s safe. If you’re caught in a current and can’t get out after a reasonable amount of time, stick your face in and yell for Arthur, he’s on alert this week for exactly that. You hose off all sand before re-entering the house, yes, even for quick snack or bathroom break. Sunscreen is not optional. And for the love of god, don’t make anyone’s anxiety worse than it already is by sneaking up on them underwater, okay? Any questions.”

Jason raises his hand. 

“Yes?” Bruce asks. 

“So when you say pranks,” Jason drawls, flopped onto his butt next to Peanut, who is already caked in sand and saltwater, “are we talking, like, low-level? Or can they be major undertakings? How physical are we allowed to get, here?”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen,” he growls. “You may attempt to scare me. You may dump wasabi sauce in my food. You may short sheet my bed. You may offer me sea shells with remote control noisemakers in them. But you get my lounge chair or me wet while I’m napping, and you can kiss this beach goodbye for the rest of the week, got it? I am staking my claim on at least five hours of nap time per day, and if I’m sleeping, woe betide the one who wakes me up for anything short of a jellyfish invasion or the end of the world.”

“Got it,” Jason says. “Thanks for stealing all my best ideas, party pooper.”

“You’re not the only person who’s been nineteen years old at a beach, kiddo,” Bruce says. 

“Are we finished, father?” Damian asks, sounding about as impatient as they’ve ever heard him. He still doesn’t so much as twitch restlessly. 

“Unless anyone else has a question,” Bruce says, looking around one final time. No one raises a hand. “All right,” he says, waving a hand. “Go on. Scram, before I change my mind and decide to spray you all down with some of the shark repellent.” 

_“God,”_ Dick says, with feeling, as he immediately sprints for the water. “Never again. _Anything_ but that. I’m out.”

The kids scram. 

* * *

Bruce cracks one eye open, warm and comfortable, feeling the cool condensation on his glass dripping onto his fingers where his arm is resting on the little table he’s plopped next to his lounger on the sand. Some dad sense woke him, and he’s got to figure out what. Previous experiences with this kind of awakening have involved everything from smply a kid conking out on the rug after a long day at school to the kitchen being literally on fire because someone forgot that Oreo Cakesters come in metallic packaging and walked away from the microwave to harass a sibling while their snack warmed up. He’s not willing to take any chances.

Steph and Cass are floating inside the breakers, so they’re all right for now. Damian seems to be sketching something over in the tall grass pretty intently, and his hair is still damp from a recent swim. Peanut and Nova seem content to run lazy loops up and down the beach, playing a gme of chase. But the other boys…

Ah. There they are. And Tim has a camera. 

Jason is buried up to his neck in an impressive mound of sand, which makes Bruce wonder for a moment just how long he’s actually been asleep. Dick is a few feet away, with—is that a fake mustache? Did his children bring a fake mustache to the—

“I AM THE SAND GUARDIAN, GUARDIAN OF THE SAND!” Jason shouts in the direction of Tim and his camera. 

Dick hurls himself at the sand mount, hitting hands-first with a wet smack and grinning so big the mustache falls halfway off his face. “POSEIDON QUIVERS BEFORE HIM!” 

Ah. Oh dear. Bruce _remembers_ this one. It’s one of the videos that Dick hadn’t stopped quoting for _years_. He just hopes that Alfred—

Just then, as Dick scuttles away on all fours and Tim ducks around the sand heap for an angle just behind Jason’s left ear, Jason pauses for half a moment, taking a large inhale, then positively bellows—

**_“FUCK OFF!”_ **

_“Master Jason!”_ comes the scandalized shout in return, and Bruce. Well. 

Bruce just allows himself a quiet laugh and closes his eyes again, after one more sweep of the beach to soothe his constant vigilance. Alfred has the situation well in hand, he’s sure. 

Right now, it’s time for some more sleep. Nap now, life later. Preferably when the grocery delivery has shown up and it’s time to grill some watermelon while Alfred and Jason tag team dinner. 

* * *

Bruce only wakes up halfway when his arms are shifted around, and he blinks his eyes half-open in a bit of a haze. Two figures are scooting up on to the large lounger on either side of him, and his brow furrows just slightly, his mouth opens to ask—

“Shhh,” comes a soft voice to his left, along with one small finger against his lips, and it’s Cass. She shoots him a soft smile before curling up against his side, dark hair falling right over a silvery scar across his lower ribcage. _“Rest_ -ing,” she slowly sounds out. 

“Ah,” Bruce murmurs, and his pointer finger strokes once over her silky hair, brushing it behind her ear as she closes her eyes and goes limp. 

On his right side, a slightly more hesitant figure is just making it all the way up the chair to bump against his side, and he glances over to see Tim, a bit red-faced, freezing in mid-crawl as if he’s been caught in a tractor beam. 

“Um,” says Tim, quietly. “I, uh. Cass said. Well.” 

“Come on,” Bruce murmurs, raising his right arm up slightly. “Plenty of room. You did say you wanted a nap.”

Tim grins, a little crooked, a lot real and warm, and Bruce loves his kids just. _So much._ He really does. 

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I guess I did.” He scoots up the last few inches and ducks under Bruce’s arm, sighing a little as Bruce’s hand finally settles down to rest securely against his far cheek as he’s pulled closer in. 

“Relax,” Bruce says. Tim stays tense for just a moment before he finally lets the weight of his damp head of hair finally fall to rest on Bruce’s broad shoulder. 

They lay there for a few beats of silence, in the warm evening sun, and Bruce is almost asleep again when Tim whispers, “Is this okay?” 

Bruce turns his head and drops a lazy noze-nuzzle into Tim’s hair. It smells like saltwater and sweaty boy and a very little bit like coconut, which makes Bruce wonder absently if Tim and Cass have been trading shampoos again. 

“Tim, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Always.” He feels Tim’s sigh against his ribs, and then they both settle down for real. Tim’s breathing evens out within minutes, and Cass is already out like a light. The other kids are winding down for the day in various spots around the beach, and Bruce thinks he might be able to hear the sound of a delivery truck winding its way down the gravel drive towards the house if he tips his head just right. 

Everyone is alive, right now. Everyone is resting, and healing, and getting a chance to be free from all the work and the pressure and the never-ending eyes of criminals and the public and the media. They’re getting to be normal kids, for once, safe and sound and _young_. 

And they’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, side-eyeing the weather forecast that shows the like, eight ice/snow storm in as many weeks: god I wish **I** was going to the beach, beach
> 
> feel free to come shout at me or send more prompts over at my tumblr (@goldkirk)!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The second part is longer, don't worry. I'm giving this family that sweet, sweet relaxation time they deserve lol


End file.
